


Part I

by tokii



Series: 壊れた方 [34]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokii/pseuds/tokii
Summary: Finan and the band managed to escape the Danes, but now Uhtred must keep Finan alive.Tag: Light Purple (Mood).
Series: 壊れた方 [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542805





	Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisthoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisthoe/gifts).

Part I

Finan the Agile

Brush thrashes against their legs as they burst through the tree line, the roar of Danes at their backs falling quiet as they sprint deeper into the still woods. They run together, hard breaths muffled by the sodden birches leaning in on all sides, feet padding against the graying sog on the forest floor. Osferth whips his head round, dead wind thrumming in his ears, his heavy shield rattling against his shoulder blades. The edge of the underbrush grows less visible and more distant, dipping into the low fog behind them. He pumps his arms, blood pounding against his ribcage, still watching the torn shrubbery that borders the forest. Grayed earth and blank trees bounce in his vision, his breath huffing wisps of smoke into the dank air, until his eyes are drawn downward. Vivid splotches run in trails on the rotting, leaf litter.

“Lord?” Osferth calls forward, his voice pinching in his throat. He spins round and throws his hands out, three backs staggering in a broad line just ahead of him. He stumbles in the slippery pulp, sliding to a stop behind Uhtred and Sihtric, their shoulders heaving as they brace Finan’s sagging frame between them. The damp earth discolors an inky red beneath their bent huddle. Osferth’s mouth falls open, his throat clicking with silent pleas for them to run on. The muted clamor of battle drums against the skeletal birches, rumbling along the sodden forest floor ‘til it beats through their bones.

Uhtred and Sihtric sway breathlessly, panting over their knees. Billows of mist encircle their leg armor slicked with the black blood of Danes. “I know, Osferth,” Uhtred grunts. The sheen on his forehead drips through the muddied gore matted to his cheeks, and he meets Sihtric’s wide eyes, loose hair leaking sweat to his bloodied brow. The two exchange a prolonged, forlorn look, Sihtric puffing plumes of white steam into Uhtred face. Sihtric twitches his trembling chin toward Finan, whose head bobbles between theirs, Finan’s haggard breathing too shallow in his chest. Uhtred clicks his tongue, and they grip Finan’s wrists in unison, heaving him up higher between them with labored groans.

Finan’s breath catches, numb torso stretching as Uhtred and Sihtric steady him. He gasps, black spittle blowing from his lips. “Shite, those bastards were big,” he croaks, licking the string of blood back into his mouth. The forest litter blurs at his feet, his leg trembling, grimy boot tapping against the spongy twigs. Blood patters against the wet leaves, the rotting gray stained with a deep rust.

Sihtric clears his throat and lays his hand on the back of Finan’s neck, giving a firm squeeze, “Don’t worry, all the small ones ran to my sword first.” Salt drips to his cheek and he blinks away, looking over Finan’s shoulder at the forest’s border. Sihtric’s gaze drifts absently to Osferth, whose ashen lips are tightly pressed to his teeth, brows wrinkling. Osferth’s staring at the bright blood staining Finan’s chest armor. Sihtric clenches his jaw, turning back toward Uhtred, “What do we do, Lord?” His voice is small in the empty woods, salt mixing with the line of blood dripping down his cheek.

Uhtred tucks his chin into his chest, the mud crusted on his neck wrinkling with white stripes as he glances down at Finan’s side. Finan groans, muttering a slurred curse in Gaelic. A steady trickle of warmth leeches through Uhtred’s fur coat. Uhtred sucks a breath in through his nostrils and twists his head away. He bats the wet from his lashes, his gaze vacant across the endless, dead forest. Finan’s bloodied hand dangles in Uhtred’s grasp in the corner of his vision, arm draped round Uhtred’s neck. He tightens his slick hold of Finan’s wrist, blood squelching beneath his palm. The clatter of men striking steel hangs in the blank trees, Uhtred’s thoughts wandering no further than Finan’s side leaking into him. “Against the tree, Sihtric,” Uhtred rasps, nodding to his left, “gently now.” They arch their shoulders, huffing as they lift Finan up between them, shuffling together toward the sagging birch. Finan’s boots fumble awkwardly over the rotting leaves.

They turn in a small circle, clomping on muddied clots of twigs. Osferth peers over his shoulder, the tip of his dagger knocking on his thigh, hand gripping its worn hilt. Uhtred and Sihtric ease Finan back against the crooked birch, nodding at each other. Their breaths hitch as they catch all his weight on their arms, lowering Finan to the sodden twig bed. Finan winces down at his chest, groaning as his side bunches, Uhtred pinning his shoulder to the tree to keep him upright. Finan’s side leaks quicker, black clots slipping through the spaces between his shaking fingers. Sihtric clasps a heavy hand on Finan’s arm, peering up from under his ruffled brows, “Do you remember what you said to me, Finan, before the battle?”

Finan’s head rolls on the wet birch, thick bun tangling around soaked pieces of bark. His breath drags, red spittle cracking on his upturned lip, “I wagered the fiercest of us would dub the little monk a knight.”

“And steal a pretty princess to warm his bed,” Sihtric’s smirk curls at Finan, fingers squeezing Finan’s tremoring bicep.

“I did not agree to this,” Osferth sighs, rubbing his burning temples between knobby fingers.

“I doubt you’ll find many nuns in an alehouse, Sihtric.” Uhtred bobs his head, wiping blood from under his eyes if just to hide his amusement.

“The one who felled the most Danes, then,” Sihtric leans back playfully on his heels, neck muscles tensing. He gestures with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, “Seventeen by my sword.”

Finan bares his bloodied teeth in a crooked smile, eyelids drooping, “Seventeen and a half by mine.”

Sihtric flinches back, lips pressing in a boyish pout, “A half? That was my kill, Finan.”

“Why was he only dead by the time I got to him, then?” Finan’s bristled cheek wrinkles unevenly, Osferth chuckling at the banter. The din of battle grows closer, resonating sharply through the sullen woods.

“Sihtric, over the next valley you’ll find horses,” Uhtred nods, tone dipping. “Go, while Finan’s still his bastard self. We’ll speak of Osferth’s woman later.”

“Lord,” Sihtric pats Finan’s beard hair with the back of his fingers, a smattering of mud left on Finan’s blanched skin. Sihtric hops from his crouch and bounds off past them, slinking into the gray stretch of sagging birches.

“I’ll be having no woman picked by any of you. God knows I could do without the likes of Skade or Sihtric’s precious Aisly,” Osferth mutters, eyes following Sihtric’s back until he slips behind a tree.

“You would have liked my woman, Osferth,” Finan grates, speech hushed and distant. “A thing of beauty. Her hair fell in curls to her waist, smile bright as the angels.”

“The ridge, Osferth, near the tree line.” Uhtred’s sing-song manner slips, “No man gets through.”

“Yes, Lord,” Osferth swings his dagger in a thoughtful circle. “Find me a nice, Irish girl, Finan, and I’ll love her nearly as much as God does himself.”

“I’m not sure you’re wanting that, priest. She might become mad with passion and try to take your balls in your sleep.” Osferth’s eyes bulge mid-turn, Adam’s apple sticking in his scrawny neck. “I’m speaking from experience,” Finan licks at his front teeth, Osferth toddling off toward the rut with his dagger scratching carelessly at his thigh.

Uhtred clicks his tongue once Osferth disappears from view, rolling his head toward Finan. Grime crinkles beneath Uhtred’s eyes, brows wrinkling under the mud encrusted on his forehead. Finan is pale, his chest rising softly. Uhtred shifts from one knee until the wet decay on the forest floor soaks through his trousers, freezing against his arse. He scoots closer to Finan’s side, giving a firm squeeze to Finan’s shoulder, “You’ll be just fine, Finan.” Finan leans his head back, his matted hair sinking into the damp birch, bloodied hand trembling across his torso. Uhtred presses his palm over the cool of Finan’s hand, compressing the black flow bubbling up from the gash in his armor.

Finan grunts, hissing air through clenched teeth. He claps Uhtred’s slippery fingers stemming his flank, squeezing Uhtred’s hand weakly. Finan’s red-rimmed eyes twitch open at a pang in his gut. His woolly cheeks pinch uneasily, “What now, Uhtred?”

Warmth dribbles down Uhtred’s wrist and forearm, Finan’s clammy fingers laid on his, skin showing gray through the trickling scarlet. Uhtred coaxes the corner of his lip into a playful grin, bobbing his head, “Now, we bail, Finan.”

A weak smile spreads wide across Finan’s teeth, cheeks raising handsomely beneath his wilting eyes, “That’s not funny, Uhtred.”

“Would you like me to make it into a song for you?” Uhtred teases, his thumb stroking Finan’s bloody wrist. His tone drifts to a low whisper, “It’ll be the three of us. All warriors, pulling and bailing. Halig at my front. You at my back.” His lashes flutter at the dew in his eyes, that drips and rolls to his cheek. Mud catches in the scruff on his chin and patters against Finan’s stained lap.

Finan groans from deep within his gurgling chest, his eyelids heavy, “I’d pay a bard to sing of Halig through all the streets of Wessex. But I’ll be damned if I let you sing to me, Uhtred.”

Uhtred snorts, shifting his hands to check the wound. “I’ve lost too many good men, Finan… one too many a brother.” Uhtred clears his throat, pressing his hands back down, gently. “You’re my brother, Finan. You’ll pull through as you did then. We have many more years to face together, my friend.”

Finan’s shallow breath whistles in the quiet of the forest. “And many more songs to sing, Uhtred. God knows I’m too stubborn for him to have me yet. And I’d rather be by your side, a bit longer.” Finan’s breath lulls, eyes closed, “Just a bit longer.”


End file.
